


Shot in the Dark

by lovelyleias



Category: Deltora Quest - Emily Rodda
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-09 21:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11677539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyleias/pseuds/lovelyleias
Summary: Jasmine and Doom let their competitive sides get the best of them, and indulge in a local game.





	Shot in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> There is a version of this with accompanying images [here!](http://withickmire.tumblr.com/post/163689053930/shot-in-the-dark)

The long road from Del to Rithmere was once a hard path. For many years it had crawled with bandits and thieves, and only was used by those who were willing to fight their way through. But, like everything in Deltora, twelve years of peacetime had changed it. Jasmine had travelled it alone without fear, unaccompanied by any companion or guard, save for a chestnut horse called Sunflower. It was always strange to travel without Lief and Barda— and without Filli and Kree, who now preferred rest to adventure. She missed them all, and her children, but when the wind sang in her ears and the trees whispered their secrets, it was easy to feel at home. 

She rode hard during the day, and camped in the bordering woods at night. The sun was fading as she reached Rithmere and tied her horse in the small stables outside of Triumph Inn. 

Five years before, someone had laid a torch to the abandoned building that had once been the Champion Inn. No one had been harmed, and although Brianne of Lees had happily proclaimed her guilt to anyone and everyone, Lief had taken no action on the matter. A new inn had been built where the ashes had settled, and Fardeep took possession of the property— and promptly renamed it— although the construction had been paid for by an unknown donor. 

The entrance to the inn was found only through the attached pub, so Jasmine was greeted by chaotic chatter as she hauled open the door. The pub was not overly crowded, but it was certainly noisy. A couple of people turned to the door as she entered, as if their nerves were permanently set on edge by decades spent living in fear. Conversations trickled into silence as faces turned towards their queen. She caught sight of the person she had come for, and began to weave her way through the haphazardly placed tables. Her name was whispered on the lips of those she passed, and she felt the heavy weight of their eyes upon her. Long years had passed since the sensation had made her stomach churn, but time could not prevent the blush that bloomed upon her cheeks.She graced those she passed with a practised smile. Later, they would relay this story to their friends, but for many the idea that the queen had looked upon them would be laughed away as drunken foolishness.

“Well met,” Doom called, a smile in his voice, as she drew close to his table. She grinned as she sat before him, forgetting the peoples’ stares. It had been far too long. He was dusty and road-weary, but then, so was she.

Doom had been on his way to Del from the far, far west, when he had written, wondering if she would wish to meet him on the road somewhere. They had picked a fitting place for their reunion, for neither had been to Rithmere for years, and certainly not together. They would spend the night in Triumph Inn before they made their return journey.

Fardeep had shooed away the bartender, and seated them himself, when he saw who they were. He placed mugs of mulled cider at their table before they had a chance to order, and waved away their coins, despite Jasmine’s protests. Doom had little to say to him. 

They made pleasant small talk for a while. Neither felt like talking much; being together was enough. A table near the wall suddenly erupted with cheers. A woman with short black hair raised her fist above her head with a laughing victory cry. She gestured grandly to a rectangular board dotted with darts set with brightly-coloured feathers. Beside her, a tall man sank into his chair with a groan of defeat, as his friends jeered and jostled his shoulders. Someone shoved a cup into his hands, and he drank deeply, until he had emptied it. The woman sat beside him and kissed his cheek, sipping daintily from her own drink. She whispered something into his ear and he laughed, apparently not too wounded by whatever had transpired. Two men rose from their table, and one collected the darts from the board on the wall.He set them onto the table and took a tin offered by one of his friends. He shuffled through the contents for a moment, before procuring a white card. He nodded and set it back on the table, shooting the man at his side a wicked grin. The table fell silent as he aimed the dart. He released it, letting it hit a rectangular board on the wall. Jasmine, seated on the same side as board, could not tell if there was any sort of target. 

Jasmine turned to Doom, who was watching the game with a mild interest. She leaned towards him, her bare arms pressing against the sticky table. “Do you know what they are doing?”

“It is called ‘Shot in the Dark’. It is played in pairs: the first person picks a word from a box, and has to spell it on the board by throwing darts. It is very popular these days, especially in the west.”

“They play it while drinking?” Jasmine curled her lip. “How do you win? Does the prize go to the person who still has two eyes when the sun rises?”

“Only when it is played in Broome,” Doom jested dryly. “Elsewhere, if their partner guesses before they spell it, they have won. If not, the dart-thrower wins. The dart thrower gets as many throws as the word has letters, but they cannot miss their letters more than three times, or they lose.”

“What do you get if you win?”

“Nothing. But the loser has to drink all that is in their cup.”

“That is a strange way to play a game,” Jasmine said scornfully. “The winner should get a prize.”

Doom grunted and sipped his wine. “One might say the triumph is prize enough. Glory, if you will.”

“Glory,” Jasmine scoffed. “What can you do with _glory_?”

She sipped from her cup. The cider was not overly sweet, as she had feared, but quite pleasant She rarely partook in drinking, but visiting her father after so long apart seemed like an occasion worth celebrating. She eyed Doom over the rim of her cup. He was gazing at one of the free boards, with his head tilted toward her.

She had drawn a bow on occasion; thrown her dagger when she had to, but her only experience with darts could be summed up in the small scar on the palm of her hand. Still, her aim was good, and her desire to best her father was greater. There were five game boards on the wall— Doom was clearly correct in the game’s popularity— but only the one in play by the far table was occupied. Despite her scornful words, she could not deny the appeal the game held. 

“Have you played before?” She asked him casually. 

Doom’s eyes narrowed above his cup. “Once or twice.”

“Have you ever lost?”

“Never.”

Jasmine grinned and climbed to her feet. “You will, tonight,” she said, and sauntered to the board closest to their table. She pulled a tin of cards and a tin of darts from where they had been carefully hooked underneath, and brought them to a ledge that divided the room. A chalk line had been drawn before it on the floor, marking where players were meant to stand. From the first tin, she plucked a small white card.

Doom joined her, leaning against the ledge. 

“I will throw first,” she announced. Doom shrugged and gestured for her to begin. Sure that Doom could not see, she flipped the card over.  _Graveyard,_ was written by a careful hand.

She smiled, for she had hoped for a long word. She placed it face down on the ledge.

“How many letters?” Doom asked. Jasmine frowned and shook her head. “You must tell me.”

“Nine,” she trailed her fingers across the feathered tips of the darts, and regarded the board for a moment. It was lettered, as Doom had said, and small enough to pose a challenge. 

 

“How are the children?” Doom asked suddenly, when Jasmine turned her attention and had begun to inspect the brightly-coloured darts in the tin.

Jasmine regarded him with suspicion. He truly wanted to know, no doubt. Anna adored her grandfather. She could spend an age in his lap, fascinated by the way his huge, calloused hands felt clasped by her tiny ones. And Doom had only been to Del one other time since the twins had been born. Still, it was a curious time to ask. She fixed him with a glare, but as usual, his face betrayed nothing. 

“They are well,” she said evenly, selecting a green-feathered dart. “Be prepared: Anna may be cross with you, she says you do not visit nearly enough. But her anger will not last, for she missed you far too much. And you will be surprised by how the babies have grown.”

She looked up at him, and was startled into a laugh. Even if his question had not been genuine, the smile on his face certainly was.

“It will be good to see them,” was all he said. 

Jasmine stepped behind the line, and drew back the dart in her hand. She thought of Anna’s easy laugh, of Jarred and Endon, no doubt long asleep in their crib. She thrust her hand forward, and let the dart fly. It sunk neatly beneath the curve of the ‘G’. 

She turned back to Doom, feeling smugly pleased with herself. “This game is not so hard,” she told him with a toss of her hair. “Particularly when you do not play it as they do,” she nodded to the rowdy table who had begun yet another game, well into their cups. One of the men who played the second round was sulking in his chair, and would not respond to any cajoling from his friends. 

“You hit your first target, do not get too excited,” Doom said cooly.

Jasmine shrugged and pulled out a purple-feathered dart from the tin beside him, and returned to the game-line. ‘R’ was her next goal, and the loop at the top of the letter looked wonderfully like a target. 

“And Lief?” Doom called suddenly, over the din of the room. “How is he?”

Jasmine suppressed the urge to groan. “Does he not write to you enough?” She snapped, instead. 

“He does,” Doom said, with a smirk that betrayed him. He _was_ trying to distract her. Well, she would not fall into his trap. But even veiled with annoyance, she could not set aside the undying love and tenderness she felt for Lief. She thought of his face, so full of happiness and warmth. 

_“You will not let him win, will you?”_ she knew her husband would tease, were he there. She threw the dart, and it hit the ‘R’ with a solid thud. 

“Would you like a minute to think?” She asked triumphantly, as Doom regarded the board gravely. 

“Not yet,” he said, although his focus had clearly changed. 

Her third dart hit the ‘A’ without trouble or interruption from her singular audience. Her confidence was heightened by her achievements, so she was significantly distracted when Doom spoke again. 

“Any word from Barda these days?”

Jasmine had already aimed her dart, and so had no choice but to throw it. Distracted by the unexpected conversation, her dart curved to the left and sailed into the larger space left by the ‘U’, rather than the ‘V’ that had been her target. She ground her teeth and stomped to the board, tearing the faulty dart out. “Often,” was all she said through gritted teeth.

“A mistake?” Doom called. She narrowed her eyes at the pleasure in his voice. 

“My first one,” she reminded him. The feathers on the ends of the darts that had flown true quivered as she breathed out hard through her nostrils.“I still have two more chances, but I will not need them.”

She turned around and her eyes widened. Most of the patrons, and Fardeep and his staff were watching the queen and her father play with vast interest. Jasmine’s cheeks flushed as they stared, and she wondered if they had all seen her error, too. No matter. She tossed her hair and raised her chin, ignoring them all, and Doom’s knowing half-smile. She turned back to the board and, without thinking, threw the dart she had retrieved. It sailed neatly into the ‘V’. Doom’s smile faded. 

“Wait,” he said. “I am ready to guess.”

“Are you sure?” She taunted. “There are five letters left, would you rather not wait?”

“I am no fool,” he snapped. His eyes flickered across the board. “Gravesite.”

“Gravesite?” 

“Gravesite.”

Jasmine laughed in delight and flicked her chosen card toward him. A few cheers rose up as the spectators realized their queen had won, but they returned to their own affairs quickly after they saw Doom’s thunderous expression.

“How close you were!” Jasmine teased. “If only you had waited two more turns.”

Doom cursed as he flipped the card over. 

“It is so _interesting_ to be back here after so long, do you not think? And it has been even longer since I was here with you.” She smiled slyly, as he narrowed his eyes. “I recall a different game we played here, and another loss you bore.”

“I let you win then,” he reminded her, through narrowed eyes.

Jasmine shrugged. “You may believe what ever you wish. But tonight, I won even through your tricks.”

“Not many would call a man asking after his family ‘trickery’,” Doom muttered as he retrieved his cup from their table.

“And fewer still would ask after their family to trick their daughters,” Jasmine pointed out. 

Setting aside his wounded pride, Doom raised his cup to toast her, and Jasmine grinned fiercely as he brought it to his lips. He had been right, triumph was a prize itself.

Doom finished the drink and placed it back upon the table, none-too-gently.

“Well, _old man_ ,” she pushed the tin of cards towards him. “You may try and recover your honour, if you would like.”

“I think I would,” Doom conceded, to Jasmine’s delight. “We shall see how long your smile lasts.”

Jasmine looked at him fondly as he shuffled through the cards. His dark hair and beard had acquired violent streaks of grey, which suited him in a strange fashion.She retrieved her abandoned cup, and drummed her fingers against the side.It would be good to have him home again, even for a little while. She remembered the conversation she had held over her daughter’s bed, as she had kissed Anna goodnight, and sworn to return soon.

_“Grandfather never stays long enough,” Anna had frowned, as Jasmine hid a smile._

_“Perhaps not,” Jasmine had agreed, and tucked a wayward curl behind her daughter’s ear. “But he always comes back to us.”_


End file.
